Monday, September 12, 2011

Sometimes I wish I could talk to the parents I had as a kid and ask them to explain their rationale for some of their parenting decisions back then. Dad is gone. Mom is still around, but today she's just a sweet little old lady who dotes on her grandchildren. Definitely not the 'she-wolf' I grew up with. (Sorry mom, but you were pretty intense in those days.)

One question I would ask them is this: what was the point of making a thirsty child eat their vegetables before drinking that watery Kool-Aid you served with dinner every night?

First, let me explain... Kool-Aid was the drink of choice among the families in my neighborhood years ago. Soda on a daily basis was too expensive. Thinking about it, we really did not have a choice. Parents just put the drink on the table with dinner. It was either Kool-aid or tap water. (And if too much water was added to the Kool-Aid, there was little difference between the two drinks.)

At the time, Kool-Aid came in small rectangular packages in various colors to denote their flavor. My favorites were orange, lemon-lime, and grape. I think the packets only cost a nickel or a dime, and when mixed with water and sugar they made a pitcher of liquid.

Every evening neighborhood kids were called into their respective houses for dinner. (A very different time... we actually played outside after our homework was done, then came in for dinner. If we got thirsty outside, we didn't have bottled water -- we had outdoor faucets!)

After coming in, we would wash up and head to the table for dinner. We didn't dare open the pots and pans to see what was cooking. And going in the refrigerator without asking was something we did not do (at least not until our teen years.) My husband, who has six siblings, says they were never allowed to go in the refrigerator as kids. (I can understand this when I cook enough for two days and open the refrigerator the next day and see all the food was eaten overnight. I have a friend who used to yell at the top of her lungs at 7:00 p.m. "The kitchen is now closed until tomorrow!")

So 'back in the day' at dinner time, I would get a glass of ice-laden Kool-Aid with my dinner. The problem was, I couldn't drink any of it until I had finished most of my dinner... especially the vegetables. Like all kids, I hated vegetables and would sit there playing with my string beans or peas instead of just eating them and getting it over with.

There were two vegetables that I absolutely could not eat -- okra and lima beans. Today, I can tolerate okra in gumbo, but I hate the taste, smell, look, texture, color -- EVERYTHING about lima beans. Let me say it again... I HATE lima beans. Yet there they were on my plate at least a couple of times a month. Eventually, my parents caught on that I really could not eat lima beans and stopped giving them to me. (But this took a while. Way too long. I love you Mom and Dad, but you were really dense when it came to this.)

For a long time I'd sit at the dinner table watching the glass sweat and the ice melt in the Kool-aid until I finally gave in and ate my vegetables (guess I was a little dense too). I learned to eat the vegetables first, because then I was assured of getting the Kool-aid before the ice melted and it became even more watery. However, whenever lima beans were served, I knew I would not be drinking Kool-aid on that night.

Things are different at my house. My kids go in and out of the refrigerator at will and I don't force them to eat food they don't like. This sometimes requires me to cook different versions of dinner and I am quick to remind them, "When I was a kid we ate what was put before us... no choices!"

Thinking about it... they've probably had more french fries than green vegetables (please don't tell Michelle Obama). I try to give them the vegetables they will eat on a regular basis. Nevertheless, there is one vegetable they will NEVER have in my house -- lima beans!

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Frankie Beverly and Maze

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Remembering Black L.A.

There is a dearth of historical stories on black life in Southern California. Those that do exist focus on entertainment, crime, or sports. But looking back, one might wonder -- what was every day life like for black Angelenos thirty or forty years ago? Where, and how, did they live, work, and play?

There have always been more stories written for and about the communities west and north of downtown. South and East L.A. stories are mostly crime-related or reports of 'just how bad it is' for African-Americans and Latinos in Southern California. It was the same when I grew up in the period following the Watts riot. Then, as now, crime, poverty, unemployment, educational inadequacies, and racial tensions, formed the nucleus of the stories on Black L.A.

However, as a black girl coming of age in what was then called South-Central Los Angeles, I remember lives that weren't defined by what the media wrote about us. We had a distinct culture that differed from blacks in other metropolises. And -- we had fun, we fell in love, and we enjoyed all that Southern California had to offer! Where are those stories?

Given, nostalgia tends to 'rewrite the hands of time' with a positive slant. However, I do remember cohesive, family-centered, black Los Angeles communities before the crack epidemic of the 1980s decimated so many neighborhoods. I'm speaking of parents who worked hard, raised their children, and held on to that same middle-class dream that fueled families from Pacoima to Pasadena. Where are those stories?

Do we want to go back to those times? Probably not. There was segregation and limited opportunities for blacks. Oh wait -- this still exists! Nevertheless, the stories must be told - the good and bad. Perhaps in looking at our history we can find nuggets of wisdom on how to get through today's hard times.

Then, as now, we kept living... kept going... and within the stories of being black in 'back-in-the-day' L.A., there are references that only those that lived it would understand; although, others might find them enlightening, such as: what black teens used to do with white index cards; why our parents traveled across town to shop at FEDCO; how the Red Onion and the Speakeasy became popular spots on Friday nights for black professionals; when 'the Jungle' was the place to live; bid-whist games and barbeques at Centinela Park; the black high school students who traveled to Hollywood to dance on Soul Train each week; meeting up at Fatburgers after the Saturday night parties; and much, much more. Where are those stories?